Tumblr Fic Drabbles - FrUK
by Well39
Summary: Tumblr requests. All stories are stand-alone. Occasional FACE family stuff
1. Four Reasons

Arthur Kirkland was a foul-mouthed literature student, aspiring to literature teacher, young and piercingly intelligent.

Francis Bonnefoy was an eloquent apprentice chef, just graduated from culinary school, ready to take on the world.

Neither of them could afford proper housing.

So it came to be that when Arthur saw the ad in the paper, he jumped on the chance for a share-house, and when Francis got the call about an interested flatmate, he didn't think twice on agreeing. They moved in together not a week later, having only met once before, all other transactions taking place over the phone. It was perfect.

Or it could have been, if they didn't argue so much.

Arthur looked at the overflowing sink.

"Francis," he called.

There was no response.

"Francis you absolute knob, get your arse in here right now or I swear I'll shove my foot so far up-"

"Okay, okay!" Francis appeared in the kitchen doorway, running a hand through his hair. He stopped. Sighed. "Please tell me you're wearing that ironically."

Arthur glanced down at his pressed shirt, vest, and slacks. "What?"

"One of these days, cher, I am taking you shopping."

Arthur scowled. He quite liked the way he dressed. "Coming from the man who's so 'hipster' his beard should be wearing glasses? I'll pass." Francis just shrugged. "Why are we talking about this? I wanted you to tell me why you hadn't done the dishes."

Francis quirked an eyebrow. "I cooked."

"Yes, you did," Arthur said. "Why did you not clean up?"

"I. Cooked." Francis repeated.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "We have had this conversation," he said. "Whoever cooks, cleans."

"We have had this conversation, you're right." Francis agreed. "But we decided that since you will cook over my dead body, you would be responsible for the dishes."

"That! That right there!" Arthur jabbed at the air. "I don't understand why you insist on making all the food!"

"One, I am a chef."

" _Apprentice_ chef."

Francis ignored him. "Two," he stepped closer, but Arthur held his ground, glaring at him. "You're never home in time to begin dinner."

"I can make time."

"Three," they were less than a foot apart now, and Arthur stopped himself from swallowing, keeping their gazes locked. There was a stirring in his belly that he really didn't want to think about at that moment. Francis lowered his voice. "As much as I adore you, cher, you are an absolutely diabolical cook."

Arthur swung at him, and Francis danced back out of reach, laughing as Arthur cursed.

"I have to be at work in half an hour anyway," Francis said. "You don't have any classes, right? Take care of it today and we'll talk when I get back." He didn't wait for a reply, ducking around the corner and up the hall towards his room.

Arthur was left abandoned in the kitchen, fuming at the way his request had been so easily dodged. Muttering to himself, he bent over the tiny sink, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and turning the tap.

"Useless plonker." He squeezed the dish washing liquid with a bit more force than was necessary. A great squirt of green soap sank into the rising water, and Arthur stared at it for a moment.

That was going to be a lot of bubbles.

He soon found himself up to his elbows in soapy water. The heat was starting to affect him. He wiped the back of his arm across his forehead in an attempt to get rid of the sheen of sweat, and only managed to drop a dollop of foaming bubbles on the end of his nose. He looked at it cross-eyed, scrunching his face, and turned to get a tea towel. There was a snort from behind him. Francis stood there, one hand covering his mouth, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Four," he grinned.

Arthur glared at him, reaching around for the towel hung on the stove. "Four?"

"There is nothing so sexy as a man covered in water."

Arthur flicked the towel, catching Francis on the side of the head, even as he felt his cheeks flush. With anger, he told himself. "I admire your confidence in assuming I give a shit."

Francis pouted.

"Get to work before I make you finish," Arthur threatened.

"If you insist." Francis leaned in and placed a firm kiss on Arthur's cheek, ignoring the way he spluttered. "Wish me well!" He escaped before Arthur could respond, laughter echoing down the hallway.

Arthur clutched his cheek, seething and doing his best to pass over the way his heart was thudding in his chest. "Piss off," he muttered, far too late.


	2. Meeting the neighbours

Request for "brand new neighbours" au

* * *

Arthur sighed as he dropped the last box onto the bare floor of his new apartment. It had been a long day.

The room was quite nice - certainly more expensive than his last, and empty apart from the stacks of boxes, but it had a wonderful view. Arthur made his way over to the wide window, sliding the glass to the side and leaning his head out to catch the breeze. He felt himself relax as the fresh air brushed over his face. His room looked out over the city, slowly coming alight as the sun made its way past the horizon. Arthur stood and watched the lights flicker on for a moment, then turned to survey the room.

He really should start unpacking.

Waking early the next day, Arthur readied himself for the introduction to his new neighbours. He had baked a batch of scones before bed the night before, and brought them with him as he exited the apartment. Arthur's rooms were at the very end of the third floor hall, so he headed left, deciding he would start at the other end and work his way back towards his new home.

The first two doors he came to, there was no response. They must have been out.

The second door was home to an old lady, who was hard of hearing. He had to shout his greeting to her. She looked down her nose at his scones, and had him come inside for a cup of tea and 'some real food'. They managed to find her hearing aid before he left.

The third door held a family of five, rushing to get to school and work. The harried looking father accepted the scones with a grateful smile, welcomed him to the building, and dodged a flying shoe in the same breath. Arthur returned the footwear and moved on, rubbing his cheek.

Finally, there was only one door left.

Clearing his throat, he knocked twice, nice and hard. After some time, there was a muffled curse and the sound of stumbling feet. There was a slight pause before the door swung open, and Arthur moved back.

Standing there was a man not much older than himself, hair pulled back into a ponytail, dressed in a robe that was slipping dangerously close to the sharp plains of his bare shoulder. He was unshaven, shamelessly attractive, and despite his blood-shot eyes, already giving Arthur the once-over.

"Well _hello_ there. How can I help you?" the man purred, leaning an arm against the door frame. There was a hint of an accent to his voice.

Arthur's throat tightened, and he cleared it once more. "My name is Arthur Kirkland. I'm your new neighbour, and I thought I'd introduce myself," he said, the rehearsed words feeling stiff even as he spoke them.

"Ah." The man's eyes lit up, and he seemed a little more awake as he extended a hand. "I'm Francis, Francis Bonnefoy. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Arthur."

"Likewise." Arthur went to shake the proffered limb, but realised he was still holding the tray of leftover scones. "Um…" he gestured with the tray. "Would you like some?"

"What's this?" Francis licked his lip, a small flick of the tongue that made Arthur think of things he really should not be thinking over a man he'd just met. "A face like that, _and_ a good cook?" He smiled into Arthur's eyes, reaching out and grabbing a cake.

Arthur forced himself not to shiver.

Tearing the scone in half and popping one in his mouth, Francis' expression changed. It went from playfulness, to shock, to repulsion in a matter of seconds, and Arthur watched with concern as he forced himself to chew the rest of his mouthful.

"Are you okay?" he asked, unsure of whether to put the tray down and check. "Did you get some stuck in your throat?" Swallowing with a shudder, Francis gripped the wall. Arthur leaned forward. "Francis?"

"Disgusting."

Arthur blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Francis glared up at him from his slumped position against the door frame. "Disgusting," he repeated. "Were you trying to poison the building? Or just me? Because the-" he gagged, cutting off mid-sentence. "Dieu, I think I can still taste it."

Arthur's feelings were catching up to the situation. The pleasant glow changed to a simmering anger, and he gripped the tray tight in his hands.

It was one thing to insult a man. It was another entirely to insult his cooking.

"My apologies," he smiled, and Francis narrowed his eyes, sensing the change in atmosphere. "I was not aware I was to be feeding a frog, or I might have brought some flies. Perhaps next time I shall."

Francis gasped with indignation, straightening to reply, but Arthur had already turned and made his way to the door of his own apartment, a mere five meters away. Unlocking the door with the tray balanced on his hip, he stopped and turned back.

"It was a pleasure meeting you," he said sweetly, before closing the door behind him.

In the privacy of his own home, the smile dropped, and Arthur glared down at the tray.

They looked fine. They weren't even that black. Nobody else had complained.

Deciding there must have been something wrong with the dishevelled man's taste buds, Arthur stalked into the kitchen and placed the tray on the bench, picking out a scone. He frowned at it. It seemed fine up close as well. Giving it an experimental sniff, he found nothing wrong with the smell.

He took a cautious bite.

"Oh good God no."


	3. First Date

Request for the ever-popular 'fake dating' au

* * *

Arthur smiled at Francis, thumb stroking the back of his hand where they were joined across the table. Francis intertwined their fingers and raised them to his lips. They gazed longingly into each other's eyes.

"I cannot fucking believe this," Arthur muttered, smile not shifting as he spoke.

Francis lowered their hands and smiled back. "Arthur, it's not for much longer. Please just play along."

A waiter approached, and they made a show of letting go. Arthur shifted his hands to his lap, where the table blocked them from Francis' view as he scrubbed at the places they had been touching. His heart was beating fast from the contact, and he struggled against allowing the flush he could feel under his collar to rise to his cheeks. Thank god Francis didn't know the reactions he gave Arthur.

He stayed silent, allowing Francis to order for them, and looked out onto the street. They were seated just outside the cafe, at a small, two person table with a clear view of the scenery. More importantly, they were easily visible.

That was the point, Arthur had to keep reminding himself. They had to be visible about this.

Arthur was determined to do his part, and do it well. Not only because Francis had promised him payment, but also because he couldn't stand the thought of this stalker continuing to pursue him. If all it took to keep the creep away from Francis was one fake date, then Arthur would oblige.

But still…

"You're sure this will work?" Arthur asked, once the waiter had left.

Francis stirred his drink and chuckled. "Mon cher, that has to be the sixth time you've asked me that question."

"It just seems a bit too easy," Arthur said, reaching for a napkin. A few drops of tea splattered the table when Francis replaced the spoon on the saucer, and Arthur mopped them up. Francis grunted in thanks.

"Easy is a relative word. What if I hadn't had someone to prove the relationship?"

Arthur laughed at that. "Please, you could have asked any woman - or man - off the street, and they would have agreed."

"Is that so?" Francis eyed him, speculative.

Realising what he had said, Arthur hurried to correct himself, stumbling over the words. "No, I mean, it's not like you could, I mean, you're not that attractive really, it's more that…" Francis was smiling at him over the lip of his cup, a genuine smile, and Arthur gave up. "Shut it," he muttered, retreating behind his own mug.

"Regardless," Francis said, moving his tea out of the way as the waiter returned with their lunch, "I would much prefer you."

Arthur ignored the soaring feeling in his chest and tried not to examine that comment too closely. Francis flirted like breathing. Instead, he turned his attention to his plate, thanking the waiter.

There were poached eggs resting in a bed of wilted baby spinach, and toasted English muffins on the side. It was all food he loved, and he dug in with gusto. He moaned and closed his eyes in bliss, relishing the flavour. He finished the food in record time, mopping up the last of the yolk with a bit of muffin and popping it into his mouth.

Francis had been watching him with half-lidded eyes, and now he was done, grinned. "I should take you out more often. That was almost erotic."

Arthur knew he couldn't stop the flush this time, and kicked him under the table, smiling sweetly. "So kind of you to say, darling."

Francis winced, and captured one of Arthur's hands again, pulling it towards him. Arthur resisted the urge to yank away, conscious that the stalker was watching from somewhere nearby.

"I mean it," Francis said, gentle as he wrapped his hands over Arthur's. "Let's go out again."

Arthur's heart sped up.

But no, this was just another one of his tricks.

He laughed. "What, are you planning on having another stalker sometime soon?"

Francis frowned. "Must I? Is that really what it would take? You don't hate me, or you wouldn't be here today."

"You're paying me," Arthur reminded him. He shifted forward in his seat, uncomfortable with his arm stretched so far across the table.

"With food," Francis smiled, eyes sparkling. "Specifically, food I make you. You were very clear about that."

"That-"

"I like you."

Arthur's eyes widened.

"You don't hate me," Francis repeated. "I know you don't." He sounded more as if he was trying to convince himself than anything else.

Arthur barely heard him. He was frozen in place, heart racing, as he processed Francis' words. Francis watched him, his face unreadable as he held Arthur's hand.

Arthur blinked.

Francis liked him?

He looked up and started. Francis' face was less than an inch away.

Their eyes met, and held. There was something there, in Francis's gaze, something intense and raw that made Arthur glad he was sitting down. He swallowed.

Francis liked him.

"Okay," Arthur whispered. He wasn't sure what he was agreeing to - the date, that fact that he liked him, or something else. He just agreed.

It was Francis' turn to blink, and then he was closing the gap between them, eyelashes lowering, and lips parting.

There was a cough. They both jumped, and Arthur snatched his hand back as he leaned away. The waiter was standing next to the table with a polite smile.

"I've come to collect your dishes."

"Ah, yes, of course, our apologies" Francis babbled. Arthur was glad to see that whatever had just happened had affected him too, because he knew he would not be able to stand for some time.

The waiter collected their empty plates and mugs and left, casting a glare back at Arthur. Once his mind had cleared further and this registered, Arthur's head snapped up, and he cast around frantically, looking for the man, but he had already disappeared back inside the store.

"Francis…I think that was him."

"Hm?" Francis looked up from his lap, where he had taken a sudden interest in the fabric of his trousers. "What was - oh!" He turned in his seat, looking towards the store. Then he laughed.

Arthur glared at him. "What's so funny? That could have been your stalker! He served us food!"

"No, no I know, I'm sorry, just," he laughed again, "just, we came here pretending, and then he - right as we - oh god!" he dissolved into fits of chuckling.

Arthur stared. "You are insane."

"Of course, I'd have to be." Francis wiped a tear from his eye and sat up straighter. "I fell for you, after all."

And there was that heat again, just as Arthur had managed to stop thinking about it. He glanced away from Francis' dancing smile.

"Shut it." He wished he could find the right words.

It didn't seem to matter, as Francis only leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against his cheek.


	4. Blackmail or Bribery

Request for teacher/single parent au.

Somehow, well, FACE family happened.

* * *

Francis eyed the children from where he sat behind the desk. Many kids were off sick today, so it was quiet, but of course Alfred was still his usual boisterous self. Matthew stuck by him, keeping him out of too much trouble. Thank god for small mercies. He shuddered to think what class would be like without the younger twin to keep his brother in check.

And their father…well, much could be said about Arthur Kirkland, but he did well with the boys. Francis smiled. Among all the parents he had to deal with, the fussy Englishman was a personal favourite of his. Mainly because he brooked no nonsense. He had absolutely no time for Francis' flirtations.

Arthur had made such a hobby of refusing his advances it had almost become a game between the two of them. Far from deterring him, it made Francis want to pursue him all the more. He was determined to try again today.

The final bell rang.

"Alright everyone, time to pack up - no Alfred, I see you there, put that away."

"But _Mr Bonnefoooy_ ," Alfred whined, clutching the toy truck to his chest.

"No buts, look at your brother, he's - ah, Mathieu, not you too?"

The little boy flushed, shifting to hide the stuffed bear behind his back. Francis sighed.

"Boys, you can't take them home, we have been through this before."

They pouted, the expression strikingly similar on both faces, but they did as he asked. Once all the toys were packed away, pencils returned to their cases, and bags were on shoulders, Francis led them outside to the waiting buses and cars. While the other children headed home, he waited on the stairs with those whose parents were running late.

Eventually, it was just Alfred and Matthew left. Francis plopped himself down in between them where they were seated on the stone steps and looked out into the near-empty parking lot.

"Late again, it seems," Francis stated. He himself was excited at the prospect of meeting Arthur, but he knew the twins were bored.

"He's at work," Alfred said. He kicked his feet out and back. "It can't be helped."

Matthew nodded, face nearly disappearing behind the backpack on his lap. "Dad gets busy."

Francis smiled at them, and reached out to ruffle their hair. Alfred swatted his hand away with a look that said 'I'm not a child!', but Matthew leaned into the touch. "You'll have to tell him what we did today when he comes."

They nodded. Matthew sunk even further down behind his bag as they waited, until all that could be seen of him was one stray curl. Alfred soon grew impatient, jumping up to investigate the trail of ants marching over the pavement.

A car pulled into the lot. Alfred stopped what he was doing and raced back over to get his bag, Matthew standing so fast his bag dropped to the ground.

Arthur slammed the car door shut and trotted up the path towards them, and the boys raced out to meet him. Francis trailed behind, picking up Matthews abandoned backpack along the way.

" _Oof!_ " Arthur suffered the twin's tackle, struggling to stay upright.

"You're late! You're late!" they chorused, jumping up and down beside him. Francis smiled at the children's glowing faces.

"I know, I'm sorry, you two," Arthur crouched down and pulled the boys in for a hug. They squealed, making a show of trying to get away, but not moving out of his grasp. He placed a kiss on each of their cheeks and stood again, not letting go of their hands. He looked to Francis. "And I'm sorry to keep you, Mr Bonnefoy. Thank you for staying with them."

"Please, I told you to call me Francis," he interjected, ignoring the raised eyebrow this got him. "And it's not a problem at all. The boys are angels."

Arthur's face softened as he looked down to them again. "They are absolute terrors," he said as he squeezed their hands. They poked their tongues out at him, and he returned the favour.

Francis felt his chest warm as he watched. This. This was what he liked about Arthur. This was why he couldn't stop trying.

"Alright boys, time to say goodbye."

"Ah, just a moment, if you would."

Arthur cocked his head to the side, scrutinizing, and damn if that wasn't adorable.

"It's nothing untoward, I'd simply like to have a private word," Francis reassured him.

Arthur eyed him for a moment more. "Alright," he agreed. "Al, Mattie, you go get strapped in. And it's Matthew's turn in the front Alfred, don't argue with me on this!" he called as they ran off towards the car.

Francis couldn't help but grin once it was just the two of them.

"So." Arthur spoke with caution. "What did you want to say?"

Francis hummed. "Not so much say, as ask. How does dinner tomorrow night sound?"

Arthur groaned.

"No no, hear me out!" Francis was smiling even as he tried to con himself into a date. "You, me, a candle-lit table by the river…"

"Mr Bonnefoy," Arthur pointedly did not use his first name. Francis ignored the thrill it gave him. "We have been over this. I am a single father, I do not have the time to play around - and, more than that, you teach my children."

"But otherwise, there's no problem?"

Arthur huffed. "That is not the point, what I'm saying is-"

"One night," Francis wheedled. "Day, even. We could get lunch." He gave his most winning smile. "I promise to be on my best behaviour, Mr Kirkland."

Arthur glared at the use of his surname, knowing full well Francis did it to spite him. "Regardless, I cannot allow myself to…"

Francis held up Matthew's backpack.

"…why do you have that?"

"Mathieu was very eager to see you this afternoon. They both were, after waiting so long." Francis knew he was playing dirty, but he didn't care.

"I don't think I quite understand what you're getting at."

Francis hoped he was right. He hoped Arthur really did like him, and was just making excuses. Otherwise this could all go very wrong.

"It would be such a shame, if say, this bag were to be lost somewhere, without ever finding its way back to its proper owner." He would never do it. Arthur knew that too. He hoped. "Especially after all the effort that went into the pictures he has in here. Such a shame."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Dinner, huh?"

"Oui, cher. Dinner is all I ask."

Arthur appeared to consider the 'offer', and for a moment, Francis thought he had him. Then those formidable brows snapped into place. Arthur plucked the backpack out of his hand and turned on his heel. Francis' heart sank.

Ah well.

"Is 7:00 alright?"

Francis looked up to Arthur with wide eyes, not quite believing his ears. He was still facing away, but hadn't moved to leave.

"Pardon?"

"I said, 7:00. Tomorrow. Take it or leave it." Arthur shifted where he stood.

"I'll take it, I'll take it," Francis was grinning now, his face stretched wide.

Arthur glanced back over his shoulder and frowned, a slight tinge to his cheeks. "Stop that. It doesn't suit you."

Francis' grin only widened.

Arthur shook his head as he made his way back to the car. Francis did not move as they drove off, waving to the boys until they were out of sight around the corner.

He couldn't believe it.

He had a date.


	5. If I Die Young

Song and ship request for "If I Die Young" by Michael Henry & Justin Robinett

* * *

It was a day for memories.

Alfred was the one with the ready smile, the easy to please nature, the simple charm. He made adults swoon with his cheerful grin and had children follow as he preached of justice with a toy sword held high. He was the natural leader, the happy-go-lucky child who always seemed to get his way.

Matthew was the one who stood back in the rush for the birthday cake, the one to share his toys, and the one who took longer to fall to sleep at night. He was the one who would comfort his brother when he had a nightmare, but would rarely ask the same in return. He kept to himself, and kept Alfred out of trouble.

Francis smiled softly into the mirror as he tightened his tie. They were such opposites, the two, but so similar.

Alfred would never admit to being afraid, for fear it would make him less of a hero. Matthew wouldn't admit it for fear of being seen as less than his brother. Alfred would swallow his tears if he had someone to protect, and Matthew would keep them locked inside if he thought they would hurt someone else. Both children had such strong opinions on the world already, they often found themselves in fights. With each other. With the children at school. And always they would come home to their parents, covered in scratches.

Arthur chuckled as he recalled one day in particular. The two boys never ceased to amaze him.

Alfred had been teased for his glasses so badly he had cried, and his brother had flown into a rage. Apparently, the other boy had been so surprised he'd simply stood there in shock as the diminutive and soft spoken Matthew wrestled his bully to the ground. When Arthur had been called in later that day, he'd found a very protective Matthew and a slightly awed Alfred waiting for him. Matthew had sulked until Alfred relented and began to treat him like normal again.

Alfred sniffed, tugging a sock up to his knee. His fathers looked over to where he was seated on the bed, and their chest's tightened at the sight.

"Well," Arthur said, his gruff voice breaking the silence. "Time to go."

The graveyard was nearly empty, only one other person visible far in the distance. Alfred ran through the neat rows of headstones, arms out in an imitation of an airplane. His parents followed at a more sedate pace, arms linked and hearts heavy. It was a sunny day, and a slight breeze blew through the leaves of the trees spotted here and there around the grounds. Francis tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and sighed. Arthur leaned his head onto the other man's shoulder, pulling their arms tighter together.

It was not a long journey.

They stopped in a secluded corner, a small area shaded by one of the more unpretentious trees. The young leaves let sunlight filter through to dance over the small grave. Wildflowers had popped up around the headstone since their last visit, nearly half a year ago.

Alfred did one last zooming lap around them, then skidded to a halt in front of the grave, letting his arms fall.

"Hey Mattie," he said, cheerful. He pulled a tiny, crushed flower out of his pocket and held it up proudly. "I found this on the way, so I thought you could have it!"

There was silence but for the rustle of leaves as he stepped forward, crouching to place the offering on the grass. Arthur closed his eyes, Francis' grip on his arm becoming painful. He said nothing as he opened them again, simply running his thumb over the back of his partner's hand.

Alfred's smile slipped as he spoke again.

"I miss you."


End file.
